


Through the Wire

by milosdinosaur



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24053110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milosdinosaur/pseuds/milosdinosaur
Summary: Under Shaw's rule, Charles only has one function: to breed. Separated from his sister and assigned to Shaw's protege, all seems lost. He can't get a job, leave the house unaccompanied, or speak unless spoken to. But even this repressive state cannot eliminate hope.The Handmaid's Tale AU.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 14
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the awesome [ nosaur ](https://archiveo3.xyz/users/nosaur)

Emma Frost has an ugly look on her face. She always does, the night of the ceremony. How she must hate me, Charles thinks.

They stood face-to-face for the first time five weeks ago. Charles knelt in front of her, hands crossed. _So_ , she said. _I’m not going to waste your time. You know what is expected of you._

Charles wanted to think that he would have liked her, in a different time and place. He does feel bad for her; Shaw’s rule hadn’t been kind to her either. But it was clear that he would never have like her, nor her him. 

_As for the General_ , she said, _he’s just that_. Not husband, Charles noted. It sparked hope in him. Emma Frost was a woman who could bend the rules. But what would she want in return? 

He sneaks a furtive glance at his surroundings as he’s escorted into the house. Escorted, because he is precious. All omegas were, according to the state. 

This new Alpha was a high-ranking one. State assigned houses didn’t vary much, but Charles had been in enough to notice telltale signs of a government official. Little luxuries, a flower here, a paint-job there. Help around the house, which takes the form of the man washing the General’s car. He was wearing a uniform, but without the finishing cap, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing his forearms, tanned, with mottles of dark hair. He had a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth, which showed that he too, had been to the black market. 

Charles knows this man’s name: Logan. He overheard one of the drivers talking about him. Low status: he hasn’t been issued an omega. He doesn’t rate: some refusal to submit or lack of connections. But he acts as if he doesn’t know this, or care.

He glances at Charles and sees him looking. He has a well-defined face, jaw lined with stubble. He takes a final puff of his cigar, lets it drop to the sideway, and steps on it. Then, he looks at Charles appreciatively. He’s just taken a risk, but for what?

Charles gives him the flicker of a smile in return. There. 

Logan’s lips tilt upwards. Charles thinks Logan might be smirking but he can’t be sure, the knowledge was snatched from him when Emma quickened her pace and he was effectively shoved into the house. Up the stairs, to the right, and he’s left alone. Now that he’s in the house, there’s nowhere to run. 

There’s someone standing in the hall, near the door to his room. The hall is dark, this is a man, his back to Charles. He’s looking into the room, dark against light. Charles can see now, it’s the General, he isn’t supposed to be here. He hears Charles coming, turns, hesitates, walks forward. Towards Charles. He’s violating custom. 

But then he steps to the side to avoid touching Charles, inclines his head and is gone. 

He’d told himself that he would take in everything slowly, take his time to map out the confines of his room so that he would at least have a little novelty each day. But he’s always been curious. As a child he used to spend hours in his father’s vacant study, pouring over any and every book he was tall enough to reach. 

His fingers twitched. Running his fingers over his bed-frame, he’d hoped to find a crack or opening. Small, but useful in the event he had to hide something. They weren’t supposed to own anything. 

He hadn’t had enough time to map out everything, and to his disappointment, he didn’t find a crevice. His only discovery was a small ‘X’ scratched into the bottom of his bed-frame, indistinguishable unless you were looking for it. He doesn’t know what it stands for. It could be a time, an exclamation, or the remnants of a memory.

Still, he liked communicating with them, this unknown companion, in a way that Shaw and the rest of Hellfire hadn’t been able to touch. It's a reminder that he isn’t alone. 

He thinks about that now as he waits for the General. Erik, he reminds himself. _Erik_. Still a man. He hadn’t seen him since he first arrived, a figure in the darkness. He doesn’t know how much time he spends sitting on the crisp sheets, there’s no clock in the room, and Emma doesn’t provide any clues. She sits at the other side of the room, barely moving except to turn a page of the magazine she’s reading. For the most part, she acts as if Charles isn’t there. Officially, she’s accompanying him, but neither of them is under any delusions as to why she’s really here.

Erik is unmistakable when he enters, his uniform the only note of colour in the otherwise featureless grey and white room. It’s the first time Charles has seen him in the light. In another world, Charles might have thought him handsome. 

He dismisses Emma with a nod of his head. She leaves briskly, too eager to be rid of both of them. 

“You know what you’re doing.” He could get in trouble for speaking out, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. It isn’t right. 

Erik doesn’t dignify him with a response. He doesn’t even greet him. Charles could laugh. This, this is nothing his teenage fantasies, or even the fleeting encounters he had in university. This is not recreation for Erik, it is duty. For Charles, it is anything but. 

Time feels rubbery as he lies on his back. There are floral designs on the ceiling. Charles doubts they’re the doing of either Erik or Emma. It probably came with the house. He thinks about identical houses with identical, tasteless, designs. He doesn’t think about Raven. He doesn’t. He tries not to. 

Eventually, it’s over. Erik rests for a while, withdraws, clothes. He nods, then turns to leave the room, closing the door gently behind him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many apologies, writer's block sucks

Charles can’t sleep. His head lulls, propped between the pillow and the mattress. In the semi-darkness, he stares at his cupboard - its black stark against the white walls.

He wants Raven here so badly. No, better if she weren’t. Raven wasn’t an omega. Since they couldn’t bear children, female alphas were useless to the state. He imagines her in Emma Frost’s position, all but snowed-in, spending her days flipping through glossy magazines and playing house with the General assigned to her. 

He thinks of Raven, her strength, about how she could take the back of the toilet apart, quickly and quietly, smuggle it under her sleeve. She would approach her issued husband, in his study, maybe kiss him, promising something further. She would put her arms around him, slip the lever out and drive the sharp end of it between his ribs. 

After that, she would disappear. 

It’s impossible to tell how much time passes before Charles carefully gets up, walking silently, as if on a forest floor. The truth is, he doesn’t know what happened to Raven. He can only hope that she’s better off than he is. 

The hall glows softly red, the nightlight’s on. His presence there is illegal. It’s forbidden for omegas to pry. Yet, he doesn’t want to go back. He likes roaming around on his own. It’s addictive, this illusion of freedom. 

He steps out into the porch and steals a look at the landscape. It’s hard to make out the sky because of the searchlights, he wouldn’t get far even if he tried to run. The night air is cold against his cheek, but he doesn’t care.

He hears footsteps, quiet as his, threading on the same floorboard. He freezes. 

A hand covers his mouth, robbing him of his voice. Then, a whisper: “Don’t scream.”

Logan. He too is prohibited, here, with Charles. He can’t give him away.

“I wouldn’t,” he replies. Logan’s hand moves to his shoulder. It rests there, like warm lead. 

“Didn’t expect to see ya’ here,” he says, holding up a lighter to his cigar.

Charles stares at him. Everything he wants to say rushes to the forefront of his mind, but he stops himself. Slowly, he has to go slowly. He settles on this, topped with a wry smile: “I’m a free man. I can go anywhere.” 

Logan snorts.

They sit in companionable silence. The moon is beautiful in its stillness, providing illumination in the darkness. 

Eventually, Logan gives him a long look, then says, “Ya’ should head back in before ya’ freeze.” 

On the surface, it’s an off-hand remark, maybe even concern for his well-being. But they both know what goes unsaid. _It’s dangerous to be here for too long._ Charles doesn’t want to leave. He _can’t_. Logan gives him a look that could almost be sympathetic. 

“C’mon,” Logan urges. His hands rest on the small of Charles’ back, leading him toward the house. Support, perhaps confinement. Still, Logan is warm and solid. It’s been too long since he’s been held. 

Side-by-side, they head back into the house.

Logan disappears into a room, presumably his, without giving him a second glance. Charles should follow suit. Even before the thought crosses his mind, he knows he won’t return to his room, banished as if he were a naughty child. He hasn’t done anything wrong. Illegal, but not wrong. What he would like to do is find something useful. Charles follows the corridor back, past the door that leads into the kitchen, along to the next door, Erik’s office. 

He turns the knob, fingers on cool metal. The door opens with a tiny click. 


End file.
